


21

by harinezumiko



Series: New Year's Dreams [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Noir, Breathplay, Drunk Driving, F/M, Gambling, Gun Violence, Implied Sexual Content, Masturbation Interruptus, Mild Language, Multi, POV First Person, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-05
Packaged: 2019-08-04 14:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harinezumiko/pseuds/harinezumiko
Summary: The house doesn't beat the player. It just gives him the opportunity to beat himself.





	21

**Author's Note:**

> I took the decision to use dub names for this because they’re just made for noir. Don't take that as a reason to treat the warnings lightly. Please please please don't read if you don't like darkfic, there's some nasty stuff in here. If you've seen Blue Velvet you might know what you're in for. I recommend a nice cup of tea afterwards and maybe a plushie for cuddles.

The stack of chips in front of me has been shrinking all evening.  I order another coke from the waitress – it’s free while I’m playing – and take another look at the numbers on the cards in front of me.  2, 4, 7, 3 still spells doom, but with the dealer’s Queen on show, I’ve got no choice.  I tap the table for another hit, meeting her eyes with a confidence I don’t feel as she slips the card from the shoe.  It’s a picture, and so’s my face I’m sure as she reveals her ace and rakes my chips, and those of my foolhardy comrades, towards her.  I share a wry smile with the player to my right, the used car salesman with mortgage worries.  My drink comes and I gulp it down, swilling the syrup around my parched mouth.  I notice my fingernails are bitten raw, red beading up around the cuticle of my right thumb, and I lick the droplet off impatiently.

It only takes another couple of rounds before I’m all out.  I’ve won enough in my life that I should be living comfortably, but I can’t ever seem to hold on to it, and I find myself back in dumps like this, waiting to be steered to the door.  I’m convinced that that’s what the hand at my elbow means, until the hand slides a small pile of chips in front of me and I smell her: rose and sandalwood.  I count the chips.  There’s just enough to cover the minimum bet.

“Let him play.”  Her voice is husky behind my left ear, and it stays the dealer’s hand as she’s about to pass me over.  I’m dealt two cards and, once I’ve assessed my chances, only then do I look up.  She’s sporting the uniform blouse and waistcoat of the croupier, but below that a leather miniskirt and fishnets.  She wears clothes like others carry weapons.

Sometimes Lady Luck smiles on me when I need her most.  Not tonight.  As I watch my chips get swallowed up by the house, she walks off, and I bolt up from the table to weave my way through the throng behind her.  My Mai.

She’s perched on a stool by the bar, long legs crossed elegantly.  I take the empty stool next to hers.  My smile feels lopsided on my face.  “So, are you allowed to fraternise with the customers?”

“Go home, Mr. Wheeler.”  It’s not the best response I could have hoped for, so I try again.

“You used to call me Joey, remember?”

She sighs, picking the lemon slice off the martini glass in front of her.  There’s something pink in it, a Cosmopolitan maybe.  I try, and fail, to detect the smell of cranberry over the spilt beer and nervous sweat of the bar area.

“No, I don’t, actually.  Was it a very long time ago?”  She turns to me, her eyes cold.

“A couple of years, I guess.”  I hold her gaze, willing it to soften, waiting for her to smile and reveal the joke, maybe to tap my knee as she laughs.  It’s not happening.

“You’re cleaned out, I know.  I’ll bet all that’s in your pocket is lint, and that won’t get you a drink here.  Security already have their eye on you.”  She gestures with her glass, and yeah, the suits are watching the bad luck kid.  They’ll be nice enough, escorting me off the premises, since they know I’ll come back to lose a little more, but they don’t want me harassing the staff and taking up valuable space that some high-roller could be occupying with his trophy wife.  When I look back she’s drained the glass.  “Don’t you have a home to go to?”

“Yeah,” I sulk, but I know it’s not my home, it’s Yugi’s.  I’m staying there while I can’t make rent.

She must have picked up a tell in my face, or I’m just a bad liar, because she’s unfolding those legs that go all the way up and sliding off the stool.  “I’m off shift now, anyway.  You can stay at mine tonight.  For old times’ sake.”

My jaw drops and I just sit there as she walks off.  Way to act smooth, Joey.  She turns.  “Well, are you coming, or aren’t you?”

Now, I don’t make a habit of picking up women in bars, or going home with girls I’ve just met, but Mai Valentine and I go way back.  Waaaay back.  We were friends, and we dated, we even lived together for a bit, but Mai gets cold feet.  Every few months she’ll just take off and go find herself or something, I don’t know.  I don’t think she’s doing a very good job of it because she keeps finding me instead.

She’s still got the red Cadillac.  It’s warm enough outside to drive with the top down, but she puts on driving gloves anyway.  She says it’s for grip, and maybe that makes her feel safer because she takes off at a fearsome pace.  She’s always driven like the hounds of hell are after her.

Yeah, it was a bad idea to go back to Mai’s, all right.  We’re chatting (I find out she’s now an inspector, not a dealer, but she’s still not feeling fulfilled), she’s drinking (she finds out I just gambled away the last of my tournament winnings), and before I know it she’s moving closer on the couch and we’re drowning our sorrows in each other’s arms.

* * *

She shakes me awake in the morning, eyes wide with fear.  I try to fumble away from her hands under the covers, but I can hear banging from somewhere.  My fogged brain eventually pegs it as an overenthusiastic knock at the door.  “I knew it,” I mutter, staring up at her accusingly.  “You’ve got a boyfriend.”

“No,” she starts, but corrects herself, hanging her head.  “Yes.  I guess I do.  Just make yourself scarce, okay?”  She indicates the window – thankfully Mai’s place is a bungalow so I won’t hurt myself jumping – and hurriedly dresses, running her fingers through her hair as she shuts the bedroom door behind her.

I’m hopping one-legged into my pants as I hear the voices.  I can’t pick out many words he says, only hear the deep rumble through the walls, but it doesn’t sound like there’s a lot of love between the two.  Mai’s putting on her tough-girl bluster and whoever this guy is, he’s not taking it.  As I tuck my shirt in I’m begging to hear the sound of a fist hitting a wall so I can go out there and beat the crap out of him.  Yeah, Mai told me not to get involved, but that hasn’t stopped me before and it sure as hell won’t now.

The door slams and there’s silence.  I wait for Mai to come in and ask me why I’m still here, so I can tell her I still care for her whatever trouble she’s in, so she can tell me she’s realised she’s sorry she left me and won’t ever do it again, but there’s still silence.  I risk a peek round the door.  Nothing.  She must have gone with him.

I toy with the idea of trying the front door, but it doesn’t feel right, and I don’t want to be seen until I’ve had a chance to assess this guy.  There’s a memo board in the hallway by the phone, wiped clean, and I scribble my number on it just in case.  It hasn’t changed, but she might have lost it.  That done, I climb out of the window, shutting it behind me and wondering if it’s okay to leave it unlocked, or if anyone’s going to report me for burglary and make my day just that little bit worse.

The Caddy’s gone from out front, and there’s no sign of Mai or Mr. Personality.  I shove my hands in my pockets and mooch aimlessly around the neighbourhood.  It’s a long walk home and I’ve got no money for public transport, and I’m not sticking my thumb up for a lift in this mean mood.  My steps are taking me back towards the casino.  Betrayed by my own feet.

* * *

The casino is a dreary-looking dame during the day without all her neon glamour.  I’m lurking outside the entrance, eyeing the next door burger joint hungrily.  Sorry, Lady Luck, but I’d cheat on you right now for a decent meal.  I don’t even know if Mai’s in there.  She works nights, after all.  So I’m surprised when I see her striding determinedly through the revolving door.  I’m even more surprised by the sharp-suited blond guy behind her.  Well, surprised is the wrong word.  Think freaking terrified, pissing my pants, ‘Nam flashback time.  What Mai’s doing with that psychotic freakshow, I can’t even begin to imagine.  What he’s doing alive and walking around in broad daylight is even more of a mystery.  I dive behind a parked car, watching them through the windows.

Marik’s evil twin is looking pretty self-confident in shades.  He’s wearing an earpiece, too.  Must be moonlighting as security or something.  I follow them up the street towards the parking garage, staying behind and using cover.  Mai looks different.  She didn’t have chance to brush her hair this morning so I can understand it looking a little wild, but she can’t have found time to bleach it, too.  Must be the light.  I’m used to being pretty much nocturnal, now.

They’re getting into Mai’s car and that means I don’t have time to think straight.   Old instincts take over and I’m hotwiring one in a dark corner before I realise it.  My hands are on the steering wheel and the insignia tells me it’s a Honda.  Damn company needs to work on their security tech.  With Mai driving I don’t know how the hell I’m going to keep up without getting stopped for speeding – in a stolen car, way to go, self – but apparently I’m going to give it a try.

I’ve lost sight of her by the time I exit the garage, and I’m regretting all my bad decisions over the last day, year, whatever.  But I’m committed to this now.  I drum my fingers on the steering wheel waiting for the lights to change and figure I’ll head to Mai’s.  She’s gotta turn up there sooner or later.

It’s a good guess.  I cruise past looking for the Cadillac and, when I spot it, park a few streets over and double back on foot.  The lights are on in the front room and from the shadows on the curtains I figure the two of them are in there.  I remember the open window and head round the back, giving it a test pry with a long-deceased credit card.  She hasn’t gotten around to locking it yet and it gives pretty easily.  I slide the window up as quietly as I can.  There’s a small squeak at the top and I pause for a minute, heart thumping, but there’s no sign of movement – the bedroom door’s closed – and I climb in, pulling the window down behind me.

I sneak over to the door and listen.  As this morning, muffled voices, tones maybe, but no more.  I inch the door handle down to push it open a tiny crack.  That helps. I can’t see them from this angle, but that should mean they can’t see me, either.  Still, I’m tense, ready to move if the need arises.

It sounds like they’re working through some sort of list.  They start with a name, rattle off a few vital statistics, funds and connections and such, and Mai gives a yes or no after each.  I can’t quite work it out.  I don’t want to think of Mai being mixed up in something illegal, but if it’s legitimate casino stuff, surely they have an office for paperwork.  I rack my brains for what else it could be.  It sure isn’t Marik’s birthday party invitations.

Whatever this is, it’s been going on for a while, and they’re not going to explain themselves for the benefit of one eavesdropping housebreaker.  I’m about to sneak out when there’s movement, shadows appearing in the hallway, and I think I have a better idea.  If I can hide myself for now, maybe I can sneak into the lounge later and get a look at that list.  I know it’s not gonna be headed “Evil Plan: How to Take Over the World in Ten Easy Steps” but maybe there’s something with it that could help.  Or I could just confront Mai when I know Marik’s out of range.

So, with the best will in the world, and none of the brains, I jump into the closet, stashing myself behind Mai’s army of cocktail dresses.  There’s a shoe rack cutting uncomfortably into the calves of my legs, and fur trim on something itching my nose, but through the louvre doors I can see Mai’s legs walking in and I stay still and try to breathe quietly, waiting to see if she’s alone.

When she shut the bedroom door behind her, that’s when I should have made my presence known.  Or better, once she’d drawn the curtains, and then I could have reminded her to lock the window while she was at it, there were some pretty unsavoury folks around tonight, after all.  But I wasn’t fast enough, and the longer I left it, the more and more awkward my appearance would have seemed, particularly when the stockings started to be rolled down and the bare feet stepped first out of the skirt and then the black lace panties and I’m thanking the angle of the slats that I can only see her from her thighs down, until she’s lying on the bed, and I should look away, I know I should look away from this woman and this incredibly private and personal display of affection, but I’m jealous that I’ve never heard the soft sighs she’s making, that I never saw the sinuous grace of her movements amid my childishly eager belief that the bigger the bang, the better, and I’m curious about the way her own hand keeps reaching up to pull her scarf tighter around her neck, and when her eyes open I swear she’s looking straight at me and I hold my breath as she smiles and try to think how I can explain this and still come off as the good guy but she just gets up, puts on a robe that was hanging on the back of the door, and heads out of the bedroom.

My heart pumps as I let out an almost explosive sigh.  The window’s still unlocked.  Maybe I can make it.  Sacrificing silence for speed, I bolt from the closet, but as I’m lifting the frame I can feel a sharp point at my throat and I know she’s been just as fast.  I raise my hands, daring to glance down to assess the threat.  It’s a carving knife, but I wouldn’t be feeling any better right now if it had been a potato peeler.

“Joey Wheeler,” she purrs, spinning me slowly around with a hand on my shoulder.  “Mai told you to leave this morning, yet here you are.”

“Mai told me…?” I ask, incredulously, wondering if Malik drives everyone to split personalities by association.  But she’s still got that wild platinum blonde hair, and her eyes are narrowed in a familiar smirk, and I’m starting to get a real bad feeling.  “I want to talk to Mai.  Let me see Mai.”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” not-Mai says, guiding me away from the window with the point of the knife.  “I can’t say I’m surprised, really.”  I’m walking backwards, taking tiny steps to be sure of my footing, but now I can feel the wall against my heel.  I’m backed up into a corner.  Great.  I used to be able to take guys like this on with my hands in my pockets.  I’m not sure if my reflexes are that sharp any more.

“What are you making her do, Bakura?”  I hurl the accusation and the theory together.

“Heh.”  She blinks with a self-satisfied smile.  “I’m not making her do anything against her will.  It’s a nice little partnership we’ve got here.  Mai hands me a new host body, helps me with my dreams, and I help her with her nightmares.  Make her feel like she’s worth a damn.”

“You do?  I don’t recall that being the case with Ryou.”  I’m scanning her, looking for a lapse in concentration, a way I can duck out from under her and make for the door, but really, I want to speak to Mai, so I keep talking.

“People change.”  That smirk’s getting irritating.

“Millenia-old demon spirits don’t.”

“Maybe not.”  I can feel the point of the knife puckering my skin as she twists it slightly.  “But I can appreciate a strong spirit, and a will to win.  Mai has a determination Ryou lacked, and she’s willing to use it to help me, because in turn I’m helping her.”

“Let her tell me that.”

“And then what?  I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate here.”  But a scowl crosses her face, the hair softens and glows golden again, and Mai’s looking back at me.  The knife stays exactly where it is.

“I told you to leave, Joey.  You don’t want to be mixed up in this.”  There’s a tone in her voice I’d not wanted to hear again, the kind of scornful detachment she had when I first met her, or when she was working for Dartz.

“I don’t want you to be mixed up in this.  Care to tell me what ‘this’ is, by the way?  ‘Cause you seem to be associating with some pretty shady characters.”  Myself included.

“It’s best you don’t know.  He might let you live, then.”  Something in her still wants to protect me, and I take that as the first good sign of the evening.  I wish the caveat had been more than a ‘might’, though.

“Christ, Mai.  What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I made it very much my business.  Seriously, what is it with you and these world-domination types?”

She slaps me for that.  Maybe I deserve it, I don’t know.  “Bakura told you the truth.  He’s helping me become something greater.”

I laugh, despite myself.  “Mai, can you hear yourself?  When we talked last night, you didn’t sound like you had any sort of brilliant life plan.  And giving yourself up to this madman isn’t going to make you stronger.”

She flushes, angry red spots on her cheeks.  “You don’t understand what I’ve been through.”

“The heck I don’t!”  I want to slap her, now, but I resort to shouting, despite my face being mere inches from hers.  “You know what I’ve seen.  You know what I’ve done, even.  Grow up, Mai.  Take some goddamn responsibility and just grow up!”

Bad move, Wheeler.  Her eyes harden in outrage, and with a flicker Bakura’s back.  I don’t have time to react as she takes my head in both hands and whams it hard against the wall.

* * *

The burlap sack comes off my head again.  There’s a mirrored wall opposite in the otherwise black room and I watch my head lolling to one side through swollen eyelids.  My face is such a patchwork of purple, black and red that I don’t recognise it.  The blood encrusted in my matted hair makes tufts of it stand up.  I try again to wriggle my wrists and ankles to free them from the tape binding them to the chair, but my movements are getting more sluggish with each beating.

It takes me a moment to realise what’s happening when Marik shoves the glass under my nose.  “Drink?” he asks, seemingly delighted by his own kindness.

The fumes of whisky reach my nose and I decline, the croak of my voice betraying my scorched mouth and distended tongue.  “I don’t drink alcohol.”  Even in this state, I don’t want to become any more like my father.  “I’d kill for a glass of water, though, if you’d just let me out of this chair.”

He laughs, full and throatily, his upper body shaking with the exertion.  “Not a chance.  Your body’s mine, your soul’s Bakura’s.  You get what’s left over afterwards.  That’s the deal.”  He throws the drink in my face, the alcohol stinging in the open wounds  and dribbling stickily down my chin and neck.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a bargain to me,” I hiss through the pain.  While he’s talking, he’s not reaching for the sack, or for the implements on the table to my left, so I like to keep him occupied.

“It’s the same one everybody gets.”  That’s their plan, you see.  They’ve been preying on the casino down-and-outs, the unlucky addicts no-one will miss.  I guess Bakura’s aiming for some sort of grand resurrection plan.  Marik?  Marik just loves to hurt people.  And boy, was I in the wrong place at the wrong time.  “I’m always inspired by your fortitude, Joey Wheeler.  People usually pass out by now.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us is having fun.”  My head drops forward and a dislodged tooth falls into my lap.

“I think there’s plenty more fun left in you yet.”  Marik’s reaching for something that reminds me unpleasantly of a pizza cutter when a door opens on my right.  Mai’s standing there, and she’s never looked more defiantly beautiful to me than when she holds that arm out straight, aiming the little pearl-handled revolver at my gracious host, dropping him with two bullets to the head.

I wasn’t expecting her to turn the barrel on me next.  “Should I put you out of your misery, Mr. Wheeler?”

Her expression’s too blank for me to read whether she’s joking or not.  I wish she’d pulled this stunt an hour earlier when my brains weren’t already leaking out of my ears.  I sigh and look up, managing my best gutter-punk smile through crooked and broken teeth.  “It’s your move, Mai.”


End file.
